Update for Week of July 24
My joie de vivre has returned. Friends on the phone note that I sound much better. And indeed, I do feel better. I am eager to walk about under my own power and have been leaving the house more often. Some pains do show up sporadically in the hand and foot. But getting out of the wheelchair is a welcome phase of recovery. Now that I am in the hands of a fantastic therapist, I have begun contemplating the contrast with bumpy portions of recovery. This journey makes me wonder about the humanity in our medical system.
Grady Memorial is Atlanta’s only trauma hospital. As a patient in the hospital, I was recovering from the most extensive physical trauma I knew. All I wanted to see in that space was a vision for my healing. It takes peace of mind, a sense of safety, support, and hope. People say that the surgery and trauma crew are excellent at Grady. Immediately after that, in the PACU (post-anesthesia care unit), I realized my need for help to heal post-trauma.
I was taken to the PACU after my operation early AM on May 16th. This is where I had to wait about 12 hours after surgery to receive a hospital room. The PACU is a large shared hall; I was in Bay 8. My pre-operation nurses were super sweet. The contrast here was salty. The nurse, ironically named Moses, could hear me asking for water but casually attended to his computer in my bay. The PACU nurse could not be bothered to provide me with either water or food, though it was suggested I should get nutrients. For 15 minutes at least, he ignored my repeated requests for water. He did this after telling me to wait for the next round of meals after I had slept through the lunch service in a post-anesthesia haze. It was the first time I felt like crying. Later, he rested his elbow on my bed while talking about his rental property in Nigeria on his cell phone.
After insisting on a change of nurse and bay, a kindhearted nurse brought me a fruit cup and juice to quench my soul. As I waited for the room assignment in the Bay of Ugliness, I was not allowed additional visitors. In the shared bay, I was told visitations are restricted. While waiting in this shared space, I could hear the screams of patients ringing out across the hall. Each bay shouted shocks in the early moments of consciousness after surgery. These sounds and agony took a toll on my spirit. The wait for a longer-term observation room was the first taste of absolute helplessness.
When I was wheeled into my assigned room, it was nearly midnight. And I had a roommate. My roomie already had the window side and she was trying to sleep when I arrived. I was placed on the other side of the curtains she would keep drawn. The four days I spent there were a lesson in patience. A series of technicians entered the room for various tasks. Throughout the day (and night), people check on you to measure your blood pressure, deliver a regiment of pills, and rarely for cleaning. Sometimes, I felt that I was a task, not a human. There were constant beeping noises from machines attached to me. Without windows and sunlight, the healing effect of trees, I felt I was in a science experiment. My roommate kept the TV on and loud at night for background noise (ugh). Between her calls for help, and our regular tech- checks, it was hard to sleep well through the night. The resident doctor in training would arrive, grumpy at 6 am, then wake me up to ask how I slept.
The hand specialist working with me at Emory’s 21 Ortho Lane is a dream. Marcia is my ideal healthcare caregiver. She is everything I could hope for in a therapist. Marcia is competent, kind, and thoughtful. She communicates well, and her presence puts me at ease. Wow. She is a gift and a gem in this process. I am so glad about this because arriving at a therapist has not been easy. There have been pushbacks from the insurance company and the foot clinic suggesting that I could not work on hand and foot during the same period (like the first limb had to be discharged before the other limb is eligible for therapy!) A bureaucracy like this makes me wonder about the efficacy of our healthcare system.
Another sore spot within health care has been the exchange of knowledge. Overall, I felt I was under-informed about the procedures in surgery and learning about the extent of my injuries. I am interested in asking specific questions about my body. As a lawyer growing up in a medical household, I realize that the question of informed consent is entirely another issue (you must know a meaningful amount about the choices in front of you). Still, many of my providers could not provide the bare minimum a decenct explanation. When I asked for clarifications and answers, I was told that a surgeon had talked to me post-surgery. I retorted: You mean when I was high and hallucinating in Lalaland? Days later, I chased down some surgeon to get a basic explanation of my injuries. Til then, support staff directed me to check MyChart (while I was still in the hospital). Without an insider’s heads-up for proper hospital checkout, I wonder where I would have been. The doctors in my family helped me retrieve the script for therapy and medicines before I left. The hospital sent me home with some medications, but I am glad I doubled checked ( I would have been without Oxy if I had not paid attention). While I was present and before being discharged, I waited 2+ hours for MyChart login credentials.
Reflecting on my journey here, I realize my physical pain was not the worst part of my accident. My biggest bumps were mean people and the psychological sense of dependence. Walking on my own makes a huge contrast. Now, I am safely away from Grady Hospital and gratefully in front of the windows with Marcia. Before we begin treatment, she wraps my wrist with towels and a heating pad. I gaze into the green grass and return to a sense of calm. She asks about my weekend, and I tell her about the past four days excursion to the Georgia/ North Carolina borderland. I spent time in a passive solar modern eco cabin with windows with views and thoughtful amenities galore. There, I shared meals, splashes, and care with cherished loved ones. It is the version of health care that has been most healing.
